


Mad Man with a Box

by deinvati



Category: Doctor Who, Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: Arthur is a busy person. He doesn’t have time for phone booths landing in his office or ridiculous men dragging him from one place to the next.  The last thing he needs is someone spouting nonsense at him when he’s trying to get things done.Or maybe, that’s exactly what he needs, as well as everything he could ever want, topped off with a scruffy beard and a purple velvet jacket.  Time (and relative dimension in space) will tell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queuebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queuebird/gifts).



> For Q, thank you for being patient! I have a whole journey for them to go on, and I’m hoping you like it!! More to come for these two! 
> 
> Prompt: DOCTOR WHO
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day!

It took less than a second for Arthur to realize that the grinding, whirring noise flooding his office was not an incoming text, but he clutched the phone in his pocket anyway as a tall, rectangular form blinked in and out of existence in front of him. When the shape finally solidified and the sound died, Arthur couldn't force his hand to rub his eyes or his throat to swallow.

 _It's happening,_  he thought.  _Finally. After all these years… and today is the day. I've actually lost my mind._

What looked like an old phone booth stood on the rug in front of his walnut desk, a desk which he was very proud of and had worked very hard for, even though the office was too small for such a large piece of furniture. But damn it, he'd been at this company for almost 15 years, existing on Gardettos and macchiatos for 14 of them, and working a minimum 60 hours a week. He at least deserved a big damn desk out of it.

The phone booth was parked an inch away, and when the door on the front of it opened, it banged into the wood, leaving a gouge.

A strangled noise worked its way out of Arthur's locked throat, and he heard someone mutter, "Oh, bollocks," before the door closed again.

When the grinding siren noise started back up, Arthur forced himself to breathe out, the box and the sound fading and finally disappearing. His hand around his phone finally unlatched, and he blinked, unsure what to think. He pinched his leg, hard.

He didn't have long to ponder what the hell had just happened because the sound started up again almost as soon as it had left. This time, when the phone booth winked and pulsed into sight, its door faced away from the desk. Right or wrong, Arthur felt less panicked when the door opened again. After all, he knew what to expect now.

"Ah, much better!"

The man who exited was handsome—broad, and scruffy, and dressed in a knee-length purple velvet coat. He ran a hand over the material as he surveyed his surroundings before his gaze landed on Arthur.

"Oh, hello!"

Arthur calmly reached for his desk phone and pressed the speed dial button.

"Dom?" he said into the mouthpiece, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. "Yes, remember me saying I think I might need to take some time off?"

The man lifted an eyebrow, a grin making his generous lips twitch up.

"Yes, I'm going to need to start that immediately. Mmm, no, it's just that I think I might be delirious. Yes. No, I have a feeling this is going to be an extended leave because I clearly have been working too hard. I'm starting to hallucinate men in velvet riding a telephone booth into my office. Yes, thank you. I appreciate all you do, too. Yes, I'll call you next week."

He set the phone back in its cradle, and the man in front of him smiled wide—crooked teeth charmingly on display.

"It's a police box, love," he said, his British accent thick, "and you're not hallucinating."

And Arthur, for all his years of poise in a boardroom, his precisely perfected skeptical look and the way he could clear a room with a scowl, blurted out, "What the hell is a police box?"

_Great. I'm talking to my hallucinations now._

But the man  _lit up_. "Oh, it's  _like_ a telephone booth, but you can only ring the police. They used to have them all over in the '50s, but now there's only this one." He turned to smile at the box like it had done something clever, stroking the wood lovingly.

"So… you're a police officer then?" Arthur's hand crept toward the phone in his pocket, no sudden movements, nothing threatening.

He laughed. "No, no. I'm The Doctor." He leaned on Arthur's desk, into Arthur's space. "Hello."

Arthur froze. "Uh. Hi. Doctor of what?"

A flash of disappointment crossed his face before it smoothed again. "No, that's my name. Well. That's what people call me, anyway. It's really more of my job. Well, not  _job_ , exactly..."

Arthur wasn't sure what his face was doing anymore. "Sorry, but—"

"No time!" The Doctor said, standing abruptly. "I need to find and inspect your lunch, darling. Come on."

And before Arthur could protest, The Doctor had grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hallway at a run.

"Why are we running?" Arthur asked as he was dragged to the company breakroom. The Doctor, coattails flying, skidded to a stop in front of the refrigerator.

"Shh. I'm listening," he whispered and then cracked the refrigerator door.

"Listening?!" Arthur sputtered, still trying to wrap his head around who this man was and how he'd gotten into his office. "What on Earth could—"

"EXACTLY!" the Doctor interrupted triumphantly, turning to Arthur with an ecstatic grin. "What on Earth could it  _possibly_  be? Nothing that I've ever heard…" he trailed off as he opened the door a bit wider, cocking an ear toward the Tupperware. "So maybe," he said, easing his head further in, "it's not something from on Earth."

Arthur blinked at that, then frowned. "Wait, what… are you—"

"Ssshh!" the Doctor instructed, and Arthur held his breath as they both listened to his coworkers' leftovers.

Just as Arthur reached the end of his patience and opened his mouth to start demanding answers, the man calling himself The Doctor stood and drew something out of his inner coat pocket. It was about the size of a pen, but thicker and made of metal. The Doctor pointed it at the contents of the refrigerator.

It lit up with blue LED light and made a soft mechanical noise before the Doctor pulled it closer to inspect it.

"Hmm," he said, tapping it on his chin. "All 'on Earth' things in here, it seems. Must be coming from somewhere else…"

"Alright, that's enough," Arthur clipped, and the Doctor turned to him, eyebrows expectant. "I need to know who you are, how you got in my office, what you're doing here, and what  _that_  is," Arthur demanded, pointing at the metal pen.

The Doctor smiled easily. "Of course, pet! But I am a little worried about you because we already covered some of this. Are you feeling alright?"

"What!?" Arthur squawked. "We didn't—"

"The Doctor, police box, finding and inspecting your lunch, and  _this_ ," he said, handing Arthur the pen, "is my sonic screwdriver."

The pen, or screwdriver, or whatever it was, was lighter than Arthur thought it would be, but it felt denser somehow. More solid, while weighing less. The metal was neither cool nor warm, but had a strange feel to it, almost… fuzzy. The oddness derailed Arthur's rant of annoyance as he looked at it again, running his fingers over it.

"Woah," Arthur breathed, eyebrows furrowed as the questions he wanted to ask tripled. "What—"

"Ah, yes. I love this bit," the Doctor said, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. He grinned at Arthur. "I cannot count how many times I've done this, but it never gets old. You humans are so fascinatingly  _fascinated_  by everything, and you don't even realize how refreshing that is."

Arthur felt a disturbing twist in his gut as he looked at the mischievous eyes and plush smile in front of him. "Yeah, did you just say, 'you humans'?"

The Doctor grinned and nodded, his eyes twinkling even more. "Mmm. Not a human," he said pointing a thumb at himself, "and not an 'on Earth' thing," he pointed to the screwdriver in Arthur's grip.

Arthur looked at the screwdriver again, knowing in his bones it was true. He wanted to drop it, throw it, get it as far away from himself as he could, but also needed to cradle it carefully and look at it forever, uncovering all its secrets.

"Come on, I'll prove it."

The Doctor spun on his heel and led the way back to Arthur's office, and Arthur hurried to keep up with him, the screwdriver held awkwardly in both hands. Carolyn peeked her head over her cubicle wall as they passed, her thin nose practically sniffing for office gossip. Arthur scowled at her until she sat back down.

The Doctor unlocked the door to the box and then all the questions died on Arthur's lips as he stared at the visual impossibility in front of him. His throat clicked.

"It's…"

The Doctor turned around, hopeful. "Yes?"

"It's bigger on the inside," Arthur whispered reverently, stepping through the doorway as if he was parting the veil of mists.

"Yes, it is!" The Doctor grabbed him, exuberant and joyful, and spun him around in the entrance to the circular room. Arthur held on, feeling lightheaded, until The Doctor righted him.

"Come! Oh, and I'll need this."

He plucked the screwdriver from Arthur's lax fingers, but Arthur couldn't stop staring. First at the inconceivable space and the inside of what was undoubtedly a space ship, and then at the man he'd clung to without thinking.

He puttered around a large center console in the middle of the room, making noises to himself, and Arthur approached slowly. "So…" Arthur started.

The Doctor looked up as he worked, his eyes bright.

"You're… an alien," Arthur said, "and this is your…spaceship."

He grinned. "She's called the TARDIS. And she is the reason I can go anywhere, or anywhen, I want."

"Okay…" Arthur said, drawing the word out as his mind tripped over itself. He tried to condense his tumble of thoughts into something coherent. And questions he couldn't be accused of having already asked. "So if you can go anywhere and any _when_ , why are you here, now?"

The Doctor practically vibrated with excitement. "YES! HUMANS! See what I mean!? Brilliant, darling!" He bounced to the other side of the console and started flipping switches.

"Arthur," Arthur clipped.

"Hmm?"

"My name is Arthur. You can call me Arthur. And what's your name?"

The Doctor poked his head around the center column. "Are you  _sure_ you're feeling alright, Arthur? I'm called The Doctor. Remember?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, reaching to touch the mechanisms which powered the ship. "But I asked what your  _name_  is."

The Doctor's hands stilled, and he smiled wistfully at a series of buttons he'd just pushed. When he finally met Arthur's eyes, he looked like a galaxy tucked underneath a glass cloche.

Arthur swallowed. When the Doctor remained silent, Arthur pushed aside the urge to apologize. "Is it a secret?" he asked.

The Doctor gave a thoughtful frown. "No, not exactly. But everyone just calls me The Doctor."

Arthur took a step forward, dragging his hand along the unusual metal, feeling his fingertips sink into material even though he couldn't see it. "I'd like to know anyway. Would you tell me?" At his hesitation, Arthur guessed, "Is it hard to pronounce? Because I'm good at languages. I'll do my best."

The Doctor grinned, a little of the sparkle returning to his eyes, but mostly he looked like he was viewing Arthur across centuries. An ancient being in a younger man's body. "No, not hard to pronounce." He took a deep breath and said, "Alright, Arthur. I'll tell you my name. It's Eames. And I have a question for you. Would you like to go on an adventure?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the rest of this "monster of the week" episode in my head when I posted the first chapter, but it took a while to put in on paper. I hope you enjoy it anyway, Q!
> 
> Thanks to Flos for taking a look at this chapter to fix my duh. I appreciate you, so very much!

Arthur thought he was handling it all fairly well. An alien lands in your office, complete with a time-traveling spaceship, listens to your breakroom fridge, and you still manage to be impressed by the shoulder muscles you happened to grab onto as he spun you around? That's pretty impressively gay, he decided. Take that, Jenny Subbins from sophomore year.

_Okay_ , Arthur thought, straightening his spine.  _I can handle this. I'm a professional._

The Doctor was hunched over one of the panels on the console humming something to himself. "Arthur, be a love and tell me where we are, please?" he said without looking up.

"Um," Arthur hesitated, "Earth, North America, United States, New York, Albany, Computech, my… office. In 2019."

Eames looked up, surprised and delighted. "Well, now. That might be the most thorough answer I've ever received. Thank you, Arthur. You are going to be very helpful, I can already tell."

"Uh, thank you?"  _What am I getting myself into? Is this some kind of indentured servitude?_  "Helpful with what?"

"No, easier to show you. Come!"

And as the TARDIS lurched, Arthur realized they'd come to a stop. He hadn't even realized they'd been moving. "Wait, where—"

But the Doctor was already walking to the entrance, tucking the sonic screwdriver into an inside pocket, and Arthur hurried to keep up.

They'd landed on someone's front lawn, and Eames wasted no time going to ring the doorbell. He smoothed a hand over his beard and squared his shoulders, a confident smile on his face. Arthur, the best at what he did and always the most competent person in the room, wondered if he'd ever stop feeling like he was at a disadvantage around this man.

The door opened, and Arthur blinked. "Janice?" The petite woman peered out at him through the storm door, looking as confused as he felt. "You weren't at work… today," he said, turning it into a statement instead of a question at the last second.

Her face went lax with surprise. "You came to check up on me?" she said. She wrapped her housecoat around her a little tighter, but the touched look on her face kept Arthur from reminding her that they'd exchanged a handful of office banalities over the years and nothing more.

"Uh…"

"We both did," Eames broke in with a charming smile. "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

"Oh," she scoffed, embarrassed, "I don't need a doctor." She crossed her arms around herself, pleased and slightly pink nonetheless.

"Ah, right," Eames said, reaching for his pocket. Arthur stiffened, thinking he was going to show her his alien screwdriver, but he just pulled out some kind of badge. "Here you are."

She took the credentials. "You're a sleep therapist? How did you know I was having trouble sleeping?" She directed this question to Arthur and he stumbled over his words.

"Well…"

"Arthur told me it's been going around the office, actually," Eames lied easily. "Which is why he contacted me, to see if it was something other than just trouble sleeping. May we come in?" He put the badge away, moving as if he'd already been invited.

"Oh, um, sure," Janice said, stepping back and opening the door for them.

Arthur grimaced as he followed Eames into the house, trying to figure out what they were doing here and why he was still going along with this. Then he got a glimpse of the credentials as Janice handed them back to the Doctor, and Arthur remembered why.

"Hey," he whispered to Eames as she led them through the house, "it's blank. Why did she think it said you were a sleep therapist?"

Eames, for all Arthur felt he was at a disadvantage, looked at Arthur for the third time that day with surprise and delight.

"Please have a seat," Janice said from ahead of them. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No, thank you," Arthur murmured, just as Eames chirped, "Yes, that would be lovely, ta!"

Janice nodded and ducked into what Arthur assumed was the kitchen, and he rounded on the Doctor, eyebrows raised.

"Arthur, darling," Eames announced, "you continue to astound me. You're either a genius or you have no imagination." He peered closer at him. "Can't decide which."

"Excuse me?" Arthur gritted out, fairly sure he hadn't been complimented.

"Psychic paper," the Doctor said as he slid the badge back in his jacket. "Shows them what they want to see."

"What do her sleep patterns have to do with us?" Arthur hissed.

"Hmm, dunno, do I?" Eames said as he snooped blatantly through her living room. "Let's play along." He turned and winked at Arthur, and Arthur thought,  _Yep. Still impressively, stupidly gay._

"Here you are," Janice said, bringing three ice waters on a Christmas tray that looked as if it had been unearthed for this very purpose.

"What's this?" Eames asked. "Water? Love water. Can't get enough. Let's talk about your sleep patterns."

"Oh," Janice stuttered, "oh, um, alright." She set her drink on the coffee table and sank into the armchair. Arthur inched forward to the edge of the squashy loveseat and wished he had some kind of notebook. Or at least something to do with his hands.

"Well, I've always been a light sleeper," she started, twisting her hands in her lap. "But then last week, I started waking up because of the most random dreams. Just, really vivid. And frightening. Like no dreams I've ever had before. And then…"

"Ooh, 'and then,'" the Doctor said, crouching in front of her armchair. "That's always the best part."

"Then…" she hesitated, her face turning red, "I can't say it, you'll think I'm crazy."

"Janice," Arthur spoke up, "I can promise you I think you're saner than I am."

"I woke up this morning," she said slowly, her eyes on her white knuckles, "convinced I was an alien."

For a beat, no one spoke, and her eyes flitted over them, cheeks flushing scarlet with shame.

"Are you?" Eames breathed, fascinated.

"No!" Janice squeaked. "I mean, of course not! That would be crazy!"

"Oh," Eames said, "yes, right, absolutely crackers. Okay, then. Let's just make sure."

And before Janice could protest, he pulled out his odd screwdriver and turned on the blue light, sweeping it over her face.

Eames was studying results only he could see and frowning. Meanwhile, Janice was starting to look alarmingly overwhelmed.

"Janice?" Arthur asked softly.

Eames glanced up at her face and did a double-take. "Oh, hello. You alright, love?"

"Is this really happening?" she asked, her voice wavering. "Are you… real?"

"Real as rain," Eames grinned at her. Arthur winced.

"I'm sorry," she said, putting her hand on her forehead and wilting, "this is all just so very strange."

"Well, don't worry about a thing, my dear," Eames soothed. "I just have two more very normal, very non-strange sleep therapist-type questions for you, and then we will be on our way."

"Okay," she said, sounding small.

Eames straightened, trying to look Very Serious. "Janice. Do you bring your lunch to work, and number two, may I look in your ear?"

* * *

Arthur sighed as the door closed behind them. "That's the third one," he said. "What do you think it is? Some kind of virus?"

They walked down the steps of yet another one of his co-workers, a man named Chris. He and Arthur had worked on a project together, once, many years ago and Arthur had honestly assumed he'd moved on. But apparently he still worked there, and he too was suffering from insomnia brought on by strange dreams. "But like,  _real_ strange, ya know?"

Arthur did not know. And he couldn't tell if Eames did or not because his questions got odder and odder at each stop.

"Do you eat lemons? With the peel or without?"

"Have you been to Brazil lately? Or off-planet anytime in the last six months?"

"Are there a large number of fruit flies living in your house at present?"

"Sorry," Arthur shrugged. "He's British."

Eames had looked in each person's ears, and with Chris, he'd asked to see his pillow.

Chris had squinted at the Doctor and then poked him in the shoulder, as if testing his solidity, before retrieving it.

"Not a virus, no," Eames said as he led the way back to the TARDIS. "Well, unless the alien we're looking for is not quite feeling up to snuff. But I was just  _sure_ it was going through the food."

Arthur hurried behind him. "Wait, we're looking for an alien? In their leftovers?"

The Doctor unlocked the TARDIS door and walked to the console screen, draping his velvet coat across a random railing on the way. "No, no, of course not. The alien is in those people's brains. But the food makes so much sense!" He punched a few more things on the screen before pushing it toward Arthur. "Here. See? It's called a Pasiv."

The gelatinous glob on the screen was silver in color, and slightly see-through. It had somewhat of a face, of sorts, but one only a mother could love. Arthur was spellbound despite himself.

Eames crossed his arms, frowning. "It generally spits out one, sometimes two lines at a time, sort of like offspring. And they venture out and get food and then transmit it back to their parent." Eames leaned against the console, feet crossed at the ankle. "Problem is, I can't figure out how it's being transported to these specific people."

"Quick question," Arthur said. "Nope. Several probably long questions."

Eames grinned. "Fire away."

"There is an  _alien_ in those people's  _brains_?! And we just left it there!?"

Eames flapped a hand. "The offspring lines die off in a week or so, which is why the parent has to keep making new ones. I wouldn't worry about it."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Arthur scowled. "Is it eating their gray matter? Are they in danger?"

Eames looked appalled. "Of course not, Arthur! Do you think I would just leave those people in harm's way? You can trust me! I'm a Doctor!"

"No, you're not! That's just what people call you!"

"Well," he admitted, "yes, but I have sworn to protect this planet, and I have done so for a long time. I'm not about to slack off now just because I got distracted by a pretty face."

Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"The Pasiv feeds off of dream energy," Eames said, gesturing to the senseless diagrams on the screen, "or whatever humans produce that's closest to what he's used to on his home planet. I'm guessing it's a bit much for him, but it's not hurting anyone."

"Janice might beg to differ," Arthur frowned.

The Doctor looked thoughtful at that and pulled the screen back toward himself. He hummed and pushed some buttons and Arthur felt the thrum through the soles of his feet that he now realized meant they were lifting off.

"Where are we going now?" Arthur asked.

"You're not wrong, Arthur," Eames said, fiddling with knobs that had no markings. "Janice  _would_  beg to differ. But normally Pasivs don't hurt their hosts. They're in this for the long haul, not a quick meal."

"So, it's normally a mutually beneficial relationship?"

"More like a commensalistic symbiosis," Eames said offhand, and Arthur tried to remember his high school biology courses.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Janice shouldn't even know it's there," Eames said, clearly frustrated. He scratched at his beard, lips twisting in thought. "But clearly she does, and clearly we need to find a better host."


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, wait," Arthur said, "If I'm going to help you, I need to get organized. Do you have a pen and paper?"

Eames looked confused for a moment, and then rapturously fond. "Pen and paper, you adorable man, yes, I can do that." He stooped to open various drawers and doors on the console's base, invisible unless you knew where to press, muttering, "Pen and paper. So quaint!" to himself.

Finally, he handed Arthur a slim notebook and an odd writing utensil and Arthur nodded his thanks.

"Alright," he said, already feeling better scratching bullet points onto the first page. "We need to figure out how it's traveling, why it's all of a sudden affecting its hosts negatively, and then find a way to get it different hosts."

The Doctor pulled a lever, grinding the TARDIS to a standstill, and cocked his head to the side with a grin. "I mean, I'm delightfully curious about all of that, but no."

"No?"

Eames skipped down the sloped gangway, pulling on his frock coat as he went. "No. I really only need to find the parent and then take it to a different planet. But the rest is just so very interesting, don't you think? We could investigate!"

Arthur frowned. "No. I'm not interested in interesting."

"Hmm. Now  _you're_  being interesting."

"No, I'm not," Arthur said, closing his notebook with a snap. "If we need to find the parent, then the obvious commonality is Computech, where all the hosts work. So, we need to—"

With a grin, Eames pushed open the door of the TARDIS, and as it creaked open, Arthur recognized his office on the other side.

Too stubborn to admit Eames was still a step ahead of him, Arthur just lifted his chin and exited the TARDIS. His office was shockingly and disappointingly the same as it had been that morning, and his steps faltered as he imagined trying to fit himself inside this particular box again, one that wasn't bigger on the inside.

"Alright, darling," Eames said, straightening his jacket. "You're the expert here. Where do humans congregate in a work setting if it's not round the breakroom fridge?"

"Right," Arthur said, trying to shake himself out of his mood. "Right well, let's check the conference rooms, I guess."

They spent the next half hour sprinting from conference room to conference room, scanning everything with a screwdriver and listening for Arthur knew not what. Finally, Arthur stopped in the hallway. "This is ridiculous, we are not going to find anything this way."

"Well, where do you assemble with your friends, Arthur?"

"Oh, I… don't, um."

"Hello! Let's ask this young man here. Where are you headed, good sir?"

Yusuf, one of the software engineers, looked startled. "Nowhere! I'm not going anywhere."

Eames looked delighted. "Perfect! What's that pillow for then?"

Yusuf looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "Oh, this? This… is… uh."

Then the new intern Ariadne breezed by with an offhand, "He's going to the nap room," over her shoulder.

"Ari! Not in front of Arthur!" Yusuf hissed. He glared at her back but she didn't appear concerned.

Arthur scowled. "What's the nap room? And why are we not talking about it in front of Arthur?"

Yusuf deflated. "Okay, but this is  _not_  my fault. I just found out about it, actually."

Arthur clenched his jaw. "Yusuf," he said as a warning.

He sighed. "Fine, fine. This way."

Eames could barely contain himself as they followed Yusuf down an unused corridor, past their supply room, and down an old elevator to the basement. The basement was well-lit, clean, and always freezing, which is why their servers were stored here and not much else. But Arthur had never heard of a "nap room" and was frankly insulted he hadn't been invited. He liked naps as much as the next person.

Eames was ecstatic with the space behind the servers, blocked from view and kept warm and dim by the hulking hardware. There was a string of christmas lights illuminating a water cooler and styrofoam cups pilfered from the breakroom. It appeared people could bring their own pillows or grab one from a tall stack before curling up in various nooks and crannies. No one appeared interested or concerned when two uninvited people showed up, and Arthur stared at the reclining bodies around him and wondered how in the world management hadn't missed any of these people while they were napping.

"How are you guys meeting your deadlines if you're down here all the time?" Arthur couldn't help but whisper.

Yusuf glared at him. "You see, this is why you weren't invited, Arthur. Either grab a pillow and be quiet," he hissed, grabbing one and pushing it into his chest, "or go back upstairs and work on your deadline."

Arthur scowled back, ready to pull the senior employee card and make everyone go back up and work on their deadlines, when he caught sight of Eames' face.

As delighted as Eames had been when they first came down, he was now deadly serious and laser-focused on the pillow in Arthur's hands. With a start, Arthur realized why. The Pasiv. This was the perfect feeding ground, and absolutely the right spot for an alien to hide undetected for years. Forever, maybe.

He handed the pillow wordlessly to Eames, who was already reaching into his inner pocket. Arthur stopped him with a hand on his and looked around them significantly. Eames understood and turned to Yusuf instead.

"You seem to be the one in charge around here," Eames said. "I'm the Doctor, and I have a few questions."

Yusuf looked supremely guilty as he vehemently denied knowing anything about the nap room prior to ten minutes ago, but Arthur just rolled his eyes. "Just tell us, Yusuf. I'm not going to get you in trouble."

Yusuf gave him a dubious glance, but answered Eames' questions about whether or not the affected people had ever come down to the nap room. Neither Eames nor Arthur were surprised when Yusuf confirmed they were regulars.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Yusuf said testily, "my break is only 20 minutes, so if you don't mind?"

Arthur pulled Eames away from the area. "Well, this appears to be the spot."

"Indeed," Eames hummed, scanning the pillow quickly and then tossing it somewhere behind him. "No lines present, but they've definitely been here."

"We have to get these people out of here," Arthur insisted. "I'm worried that Janice's condition wasn't just paranoia or sleep deprivation. She was questioning reality, Eames."

Eames appeared to think it over. "Or! What if instead of getting people out of here, we check to see if they'd prefer a different reality? Who knows, maybe it's better!"

Arthur stared at him flatly.

"Right." He sighed dramatically. "Time to shut down the nap room." He turned to Arthur, his expressive eyes sad and pleading. "Arthur? Would you mind terribly...?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alright, everyone!" he announced. "Nap time's over."

There was a collective grumble and annoyed protests throughout the space, but Arthur found the light switch for the corner and soon people were blinking and glaring and gathering their things to shuffle past him. Yusuf tried to sneak by, but Arthur stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"You can replace the supplies you took and we'll forget this happened."

Yusuf looked annoyed but he didn't say anything. Arthur knew he hadn't made a friend but would settle for not having made an enemy.

Eames, on the other hand, was busy gathering up all of the pillows and trying to balance them on one hand like a plate spinner. "Arthur, darling, you really must lighten up."

Arthur sighed. "Alright, Eames, now what?"

Eames grinned at him and hopped over. "Well, now we just set some bait, wait for the parent to send out new lines, and trace them back. Then we can capture it, and transport it back to its own planet, where hopefully it'll be nice and cozy and happy once again."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the only part of that speech Eames didn't want him to focus on. "Bait?"

"Ah, yes, well," he said, and Arthur braced himself. "You see, I would do it, but a Time Lord's brain chemistry is different than a human's, so it wouldn't really..."

"Sorry," Arthur said, holding up a hand, "what? Time Lords? That's the name of your race?"

Eames just smiled and nodded.

Arthur scowled and held his hand out for a pillow. "And I thought I was unimaginative. Why didn't you just go with The Supreme Emperors of All Time?"

Eames gave a thoughtful shrug and tossed one over to him. "Well. I suppose I could do. It's not like a need to consult anyone."

Arthur flipped off the light switch once again and plunged them into semi-darkness. "What do you mean?" he asked, searching for Eames' memorable profile as his eyes adjusted.

"I'm the last of my kind," Eames said, with a studied nonchalance Arthur himself had learned to perfect. "We were all casualties of the last Great Time War. Well. Almost all."

Arthur tossed the pillow on the floor and knelt, thinking about that. It had to be lonely to be the only one of your kind in existence. If he were the only human? He might be able to handle it, as someone who didn't have a lot of connections to other people, but to know that you were the end? The final chapter of your entire species? The pressure to make your life mean something would be overwhelming.

He laid on the borrowed pillow, trying not to imagine about what might be on it, and curled on his side. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

He was startled by the flop of one Time Lord on the floor next to him, pillow snugged up against his own.

"Yes, it is sad," Eames said, propped on one elbow, face dramatically sad. "You should comfort me, darling."

Arthur, who hadn't realized Eames was going to stay, let alone watch over him, rolled away to cover his blush and muttered, "Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

* * *

To Arthur's horrific embarrassment, he fell asleep almost immediately in the nap space, the hum of the machines and the warm presence at his back made for sleeping conditions he hadn't experienced in decades. Maybe since the womb. And to compound his mortification, when he slowly woke, he was snuggled into the barrel chest of the one and only Time Lord in existence.

Arthur jerked awake, but Eames' arm was around his shoulders and he pulled Arthur in even tighter.

"Shh, shh, shh," he warned, breathing against Arthur's scalp. "Don't move, you'll cause them to flee. And we don't want that..."

He trailed off, eyes bright in the darkness as he tracked something Arthur couldn't see. One hand crept toward his inner pocket, but Arthur just nudged his hand forward for the screwdriver he was sure Eames was reaching for.

"Mmm, thank you, Arthur," Eames murmured as it dropped it into his waiting hand. "We need to wait just a bit longer. The lines are heading home to mummy, but we mustn't frighten them. We want them to feel oh, so safe. Slow and steady."

His breathy whispers moved the hairs on Arthur's head, and Arthur was sure they were intended to calm him and keep him from reacting, but they were having the opposite effect. He tried not to squirm. He held himself absolutely still, one leg still thrown across Eames' thigh and his head pillowed on his chest.

The screwdriver in Eames' hand lit up blue, and Arthur could see a faint, silvery glowing track, like a snail's, glimmering in its light. It was headed off toward the stairwell, but Arthur was more concerned with the fact that it started from somewhere on him, down his chest, onto Eames, and then the floor. He suppressed a shudder and only just kept himself from swiping at his bespoke Tom Ford in horror.

As they watched, the trail started to fade. "Come!" Eames announced, jumping up. His normal voice sounded extra loud after so much whispering.

Arthur hurried to get to his feet, and could resist touching his ear and his waistcoat cautiously and examining his fingertips.

"Grab that briefcase, Arthur!" Eames called over his shoulder, already sprinting after the fading trail.

"What brief…?" Arthur spun, finally spotting a silver case tucked in the corner. It was heavier than it looked, and Arthur struggled after Eames, climbing stairs as fast as he could. Four, five, six flights… how fast could these little bastards climb?

Finally, Arthur caught sight of Eames' coat, and drew to a halt beside him, chest heaving.

"Shh!" Eames hushed him, although only the sound of their combined breathing echoed in the narrow stairwell.

_Surely your elephant footsteps would have scared them off if anything was going to,_  Arthur grumbled at Eames in his head. Still, he tried to quiet his breaths and held the briefcase to his chest, hoping in case of an attack it would offer him some measure of protection.

"There she is," Eames whispered, and it took Arthur a moment to spot what he was seeing. The Pasiv was small, about the size of a baseball. It was silvery and slimy-looking, and reminded Arthur of a deep-sea creature he'd seen on a documentary once. "Give me the case, darling. And then you just distract it while I flank it."

"Flank…!" Arthur gaped at him as he took the case and crept to the left. When he realized Arthur was still standing there, he waved him on, like Arthur had misinterpreted his instructions. "God damn it," he muttered under his breath. "Distract it, he says. Like distracting aliens is something I have on my resume."

Arthur strafed to the left, keeping an eye on the blob undulating in the dark corner. "Um, hello," Arthur said, feeling like an ass. "Not sure if you can understand me, but I'm Arthur. I believe you hatched your children in my brain earlier. No hard feelings, or anything, I mean, fish gotta swim, right?"  _What did you say to an alien?_

Arthur could see Eames moving in his peripheral vision and realized he'd been talking to an alien all day.

"But I was thinking," he said quickly, moving closer to the Pasiv, "that it must be hard, you know, being the only one of your kind on this entire planet."

Eames froze and looked at him, and Arthur tried to ignore him and focus on the silver glob, whose sad face actually appeared to be listening.

"I don't know how you got here, and you seem to have a pretty sweet setup here in the nap space and all, but aren't you just a little bit… I don't know... lonely? The food is strange, the locals are oblivious, and you don't have anyone to talk to. What if…" he said, taking another step closer, hands up, "what if I could get you a ride back home? Just a quick jaunt," he said, then caught Eames shaking his head behind the Pasiv. "Just a nice, peaceful journey," he amended, "back to where you don't have to be scared all the time."

Eames had the briefcase open and was easing ever closer.

"Doesn't that sound better?" Arthur asked. "You could find someone like you, someone who makes you feel less alone. Because isn't that what it's all about?"

The Pasiv drew itself up, making itself about an inch taller, and gave Arthur an almost imperceptible nod, and then Eames clapped the briefcase around it. A puff of fog seeped out before he could get it latched, but then a few beeps and Eames sighed, sitting back on his heels.

"It's done. It's in a cryo-sleep, and it'll be safe until we can get it home."

Arthur put his hands down and took a deep breath, feeling like he was still recovering from climbing the stairs.

"Um. We?" he asked.

Eames flashed him a wide and wonky grin, standing and straightening his coat. "What do you say, darling? See a little bit of time and space? And maybe, just maybe, find someone who makes you feel less alone?"

He held out his hand and Arthur smiled, full dimples and everything. "Yeah. That sounds great."


End file.
